


if you get lost, you can always be found

by strictlybecca



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Nasir and Agron try to figure out their new life over the mountains and one time they get it right. Prompt response for sara-sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you get lost, you can always be found

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://strictlybecca.tumblr.com/post/47847312767/sara-sometimes-said-5-times-nasir-and-agron). Edited because wow, I'm terrible at tenses. Title is from Phillip Phillips' _Home_.

i.

It has hardly been weeks since they lost Spartacus on the mountain and now Nasir’s spear is once again in hand. He snarls, palm of his free hand pressed wide and warm to Agron’s shoulder, a small comfort as Agron is forced to back slowly away from the crowd of villagers growing before them. Faces once kind and welcoming have turned hard and furious at the sight of Agron’s brand marking him as _fugitivus_ , as something to be feared, something that will bring the wrath of Rome down upon a village hardly larger than the villa Nasir once served.

“We mean no harm,” Agron says, voice hoarse with disuse, his tired, weak hands outstretched in a plea – there is no way for him to arm himself with the shield Nasir made for him, not without help and not with a crowd closing so closely in upon them and so quickly.

“We look only for shelter, and a place to tend our wounds,” Laeta says, her sweet voice sounding as reasonable as it ever has, but the villagers remain silent. 

“We will leave,” Nasir says instead, understanding the desperate fear that comes with protecting all you know and love from something you cannot predict. “We do not wish to hurt anyone. We will leave here and never return.”

It is only then the crowd parts to let them go. Their legs, still burning with exhaustion, carry them quietly from the village square.

 

ii.

“You left the fucking gate open again,” Nasir growls, sliding in beside Agron on their cot, his skin cool from the evening air. He is wrapped immediately in Agron’s arms and he sighs gustily against Agron’s neck. “I had to give chase to _three_ of the herd. ”

“Apologies,” Agron murmurs quietly into the skin just behind Nasir’s ear. He presses a kiss there, his lips quirking into a smile as it prompts a shiver from Nasir. “I will aim to earn your forgiveness,” he whispers, “in whatever manner you choose.” His hands move with purpose. 

“Good,” Nasir says, seizing upon the words with vicious glee. “You may get up to feed the goats as dawn breaks.” Agron murmurs something indistinct, fingertips gracing the curve of Nasir’s ass, before he freezes and leans up on his elbows to stare down at Nasir.

“You-” Agron starts, far more awake now that Nasir’s words have sunk in. “But it is your turn,” he demands, the whine audible in his tone, but Nasir has already curled into Agron’s side, eyes closed firmly and hand settled over Agron’s heart. “We agreed and-”

“Goats,” Nasir reminds him, eyes still shut. “Gate.” Agron stares down at him, betrayal writ in every line of his face, before heaving a sigh and settling back into place, grumbling all the while.

This will not be borne.

 

iii.

“You will never regain any strength in your hands if you continue to be a fucking ass,” Nasir hisses, fury and terror coursing through him as he clutches a handful of bandages, Agron’s blood on his hands yet again – a thing he hoped never to feel again.

“You are a fucking fool,” Agron spits, the selfsame fury and terror written on his face as he cradles a useless hand to his chest, wounds split open again during his attempts to lift sword once more, “if you think that I will have strength in these hands _ever again_.”

“Then I am a fucking fool,” Nasir snarls, tossing the bloodied bandages aside, trembling with the effort it takes just to keep standing before the man he so loves and despises all at once. “and you must have no need of me.” The words tear from his lips before he can consider them and he storms from the room, the pounding of his heart too much for him to bear. 

Agron does not follow.

 

iv. 

“Perhaps it will not taste as it looks?” Nasir ventures, his tone doubtful as they both stare down into the deep pot Sibyl has left them. 

Agron manfully lets Nasir try it first.

It does not taste as it looks.

It is _worse_.

 

v.

“Laeta will not forgive us if we wake her at so late an hour,” Nasir hisses, his hands darting gently across Mathilda’s distended stomach, never settling for more than a brief moment. 

“We must do it ourselves,” Agron agrees, though his voice does not sound as sure as the words would make him seem. He pauses. “What is the first step to be made?”

Nasir’s wide eyes dart to Agron’s own. “You mean you do not know?” he says, his voice raising in alarm.

“How the fuck would I know how to birth a goat?” Agron’s voice raises in turn.

“And I would have such knowledge stored where?” Nasir snaps in return. “I lived in fucking villa, not among livestock and animals.” 

“But in the camps,” Agron tries desperately but trails off at Nasir’s murderous glare. 

“I spent more hours with the sick and dying,” Nasir reminds him sharply, “Doing best to keep them among the living – _not_ tending to fucking goats.”

“I merely assumed-” Agron starts again, anger simmering in his tone – but Mathilda’s pathetic bleating draws both their attentions, breaking the fury that was building between the two. Together, they reach out to scratch gently behind her ears, Nasir murmuring soothing words in a soft tone.

“She will be fine,” Nasir says firmly. “We will not let her be anything but.”

“We will do what we must,” Agron agrees steadily.

They fetch Laeta minutes later.

 

\+ i.

The laughter bubbles out of Nasir without his permission, loud and vibrant and hardly audible above the music that fills the village proper. Beside him, Laeta and Sibyl giggle, both leaning against him heavily due to drink and happiness and delight in the sight before them all. Agron, whose arms and legs seem sculpted from marble, has never been known as graceful while not engaged in battle; at the moment, he is being tugged along by three gray-haired old women, forcing him to twirl them across the dance floor to the loud, lilting music played by the men who usually haunt the tavern stools.

“A good one, your Agron,” calls the butcher’s wife as she bustles by, arms laden down with parcels. “Humoring Arda and the others.”

“They gave him little choice,” Nasir calls back, still laughing, “And good is a generous word for his dancing, I believe.” Husa just laughs and waves as she disappears into the crowd again. It is another whole dance before Arda and the little old women who stole Agron from Nasir’s side allow Agron to escape, but it is hardly a minute before Agron is tucking himself behind Nasir, wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing.

“You are my shield,” he murmurs quietly into Nasir’s ear, attempting to look as small and unnoticeable as possible - not a simple feat for one Agron's size. “I ask only for your protection from mad, torturous monsters who seek my death through impossible dance steps.” Nasir breaks into laughter again, lifting one hand to settle in Agron’s hair, massaging there firmly.

“I think Arda is sweet on you,” Sibyl says, still giggling and listing slightly to the left. “Ever since you fixed her roof after storm.” 

“Any good neighbor would have offered as I did,” Agron groans, “I did not intend to invite touch of mad old women.” Nasir hides his snicker poorly enough to prompt Agron to prod him firmly in the side, making him snort with laughter. “You,” he says, eyes narrowed down at Nasir, “are supposed to keep them from me. You swore before we left-” 

“I was distracted,” Nasir replies airily, gesturing aimlessly at the festival before them.

“Distracted?” Agron growls and there is a pause long enough that the soft fog of drink that has settled over Nasir’s mind parts enough for him to begin to worry – before Agron hauls Nasir up over his shoulder and starts for the dance floor

“Agron!” Nasir cries, already laughing even as he pounds at Agron’s back. “Agron, I swear you will regret this-” But his words are swallowed up by cheering as the village spots the two of them over the crowd, Agron making his way for the very center of the packed dirt floor where the dancers whirl and stomp around them.

There are shouts and catcalls and laughing as Agron finally puts Nasir down, and Nasir grins at some of the village women’s suggestions as to what he should do to Agron in retribution, but his gaze is drawn from the audience around them to Agron’s face when he feels gentle fingers brush his chin. 

He looks up and Agron is staring down at him with bright, hot eyes and the slightly crooked grin that Nasir had fallen in love with a lifetime ago. “If you will not keep Arda from stealing me away,” Agron murmurs, “then I will insure you stay by my side. Dance with me?” He offers his hand.

Nasir waits a deliberately long moment, knowing that the whole village is watching them and enjoying their antics, knowing that Agron’s amusement grows with each passing heartbeat, knowing that there is no reason _not_ to spend another moment appreciating the life he has found and made for himself. They have time - no longer a luxury, but a way of life. 

Nasir smiles and takes Agron’s hand.

The village cheers. 

**Author's Note:**

> jesus fucking christ that finale you guys. i just. ugh.
> 
> feel free to leave prompts over at my [tumblr](http://strictlybecca.tumblr.com), i'm making my way slowly through them.


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